


Trick-or-Treat Dilemma

by Cena316AA



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Daddy Tony Stark, Fluff, Gen, Halloween, Kid Peter Parker, M/M, Toddler Peter Parker, best trio ever, cuteness, daddy Steve Rogers, too many tags, trick or treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 13:03:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8373226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cena316AA/pseuds/Cena316AA
Summary: It's Peter's first time trick-or-treating, but he can't seem to find a costume. With the help of the Avengers (and his dads), he sets out to find the perfect costume.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! Here's your treat (or is it a trick?).

This wasn’t little Peter’s first Halloween. He’d already had three of those. Nor was it his first time being costumed. He’d dressed up as a pumpkin, skeleton, and vampire before. 

No, this year was going to be Peter’s first time participating in the yearly tradition of trick-or-treating. And, for this, he needed a great costume. 

“It can’t be some silly, cliché little thing like a ghost. It has to be something amazing. Unique. Something fit for a Stark creation,” Tony said as he carried 4-year-old Peter in his arms. He gave him a few playful tosses through the air which caused Peter to succumb in a giggling fit each time he landed safely back in Tony’s arms.

Steve, ignoring the "creation" comment, approached them and took Peter away from the unsuspecting billionaire. “So, what do you suggest?”

“I have an idea . . .” Tony said after he had reluctantly relinquished his son.

“You’re not putting our son in a supersuit.”

Tony faked shocked. “I would never . . .” He looked at Steve, who continued glaring at him. “I gotta go.” Tony raced out the kitchen and headed downstairs to his lab. Before he completely disappeared, Steve heard him say, “FRIDAY! Cancel the minisuit.”

Steve turned back to the counter and continued preparing their breakfast. He never considered himself a good cook, but he had learned from experience that if he didn’t fulfill this role, Tony would forget to eat and quite possibly pass out from lack of nutrition. So, the moniker of chef fell unto him even though Tony was a very capable chef himself. 

“Can I help, Papa?” Peter was already carrying his little stool over to the counter. He looked up at his superfather with great, big eyes. His brown hair was a mess, and he was still in his Black Widow footie pajama (or “footsy pajamas,” as Peter called them), but Steve thought he had never looked more beautiful. 

“Sure, sweetheart.” He placed the stool beside the counter. “Why don’t you mix the chocolate chips into the pancake batter.”

“Okay!” the child shouted with glee as he hopped on the little step. Before he dug into the bowl of chocolaty goodness, he pushed the pajama sleeves up to his elbows and grabbed as many chips as his little hands could carry. He flung them into the white batter watching them stick to the gooey substance. “Like that?”

“That’s great. Good job, sweetie.” 

A great grin spread on his little face as he reveled in his father’s approval. Maybe Steve wouldn’t be the household chef for long. 

“Now, go call Dada. Breakfast’s almost ready.”

Peter jumped off his stool and ran across the kitchen. “Dada! Dada! Bweakfest is ready!” He raced down the hall (his clothed feet tapping on the wooden floor) and down the stairs stopping in front of the big, glass doors leading into the lab. “Dada,” he said as he softly rapped on the glass. He peered through the invisible barrier but couldn’t spot his father anywhere. Then, he saw a blue, shimmering light. “Dada?” Peter reached for the doorknob.

“Sorry, Little Master, but you’re not allowed in here.” The door automatically locked down as FRIDAY informed Tony of his little visitor. “He’s right outside the door, sir.”

“I’ll be there in a second.” Tony continued tinkering with the blowtorch. “I just need to . . .” He let his focus take over and lost himself in his work. 

“Sir!”

“What?” Tony looked at his watch. “Oh, sh--” He turned off the blowtorch and set it next to his other powertools. Then, he removed the large goggles from his face and tossed his gloves onto the table; the right one didn't make it and fell with a nearly inaudible _thud_. Wiping the sweat with the back of his hand, he started walking toward the door where he could see his son’s back. The boy was leaning against the door tapping his foot in rhythm to whatever tune was playing in his head. Tony rapped on the door. 

Peter was humming the tune of his favorite cartoon when a soft knock made him jump. He turned around to see his father smiling down at him behind the glass door. He took a small step back as the door opened. 

“Hey there, kiddo. What’s up?”

Peter took in his father’s appearance. The goggles had protected half of Tony’s face from the blowtorch’s flame; however, it had left the lower half of his face vulnerable and sporting a darker tinge. With the area surrounding his eyes whiter than the rest of his face, Peter thought Tony Stark looked like a raccoon. He put both of his hands to his mouth and tried to stifle his laughter but ultimately failed. 

Tony’s smile disappeared. “What’s so funny?”

Struggling to breathe, Peter responded with a single answer. “Raccoon!” he said between gasps. He was holding his sides as tears formed at the corner of his eyes. 

“Raccoon?” Tony turned and caught a glimpse of his reflection on the glass door. A half-smile formed at the corner of his mouth. “Guess I’m all ready for Halloween, huh, bud?”

Peter was still laughing, so Tony picked him up and carried him up the stairs. He made his way into the kitchen where he encountered Steve setting the table.

Steve had been so engrossed in his work, that he didn’t look up when he heard Peter’s laughter right in front of him. He did, however, look up when Tony Stark greeted him, and he, too, found the sight of his husband’s face rather entertaining. But, unlike Peter, he was much more successful in hiding his amusement. 

“What’s with the raccoon eyes?” he snickered as Tony washed his face in the kitchen sink. 

Peter was already seated in his spot at the table (between his parents), and his laughter was slowly being repressed, but Steve's comment brought on a surge of newfound giggles.

“Well, I’m glad you both find this amusing. Maybe I should quit my day job and become a clown.”

Peter shuddered. “I no wike clowns.”

Tony approached him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Me neither,” he said with a wink. “That’s why I didn’t marry Scott.”

Peter snickered at this. “Uncle Scott’s not a clown!”

Tony leaned in closer until he was looking into his son’s bright, brown eyes. “Think about it. He’s always making jokes. He laughs a lot. Always smiling. And, when he’s not Ant-Man, what is he doing? Have you ever asked him what his day job is?”

Peter thought this over. But he couldn’t be. . . could he?

“Tony!” Steve shot Tony a glare as he smoothed down Peter’s chestnut brown hair in a soothing manner. “Dada’s messing with you, sweetheart. Uncle Scott is not a clown.”

“But . . . Where _does_ he work?” Peter’s question was now directed at Steve.

“He’s an Avenger, of course.”

“Not _that_ work.” 

Steve hesitated. What could he tell his son? That Scott Lang was a burglar? That he was a criminal? No. He didn’t want his son to grow up thinking that lifestyle was fine. “He’s . . . He helps people . . . collect things. Things that they can’t get without his help.”

“Oh.”

Steve braced himself for an onslaught of questions. He held his breath and gripped the fork in his hand. He didn’t have to look behind him to see that Tony was smirking.

Peter looked up and said, “Can I have my pancake now? I’m hungwy.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, Steve responded with a “sure” and served him his pancake. 

Peter watched the maple syrup drip from the ends of his pancake onto the white, ceramic plate. He loved it when Tony poured it because it was as if he knew the perfect amount of syrup that should be on a pancake. Maybe it was some sort of sciency thing. He wished he knew. He stabbed his fork into one of the many pieces of syrupy goodness Tony had cut up for him and stuffed it in his mouth. 

“Mmmmmm so good!” he exclaimed with a mouthful of food. 

“No talking with your mouth full,” Tony stated.

“You’re talking with your mouth full.” Steve gave Tony a sideway glance. 

Tony gulped his food down. “Yes, but I’m an adult, and I can do that.”

Steve scoffed. “Adult?”

Waving his fork toward Steve, Tony said, “Don’t you start now.”

Steve raised both his arms in mock surrender.

They were both smiling, and this made Peter smile, too. He loved it when they were both with him. It was during these moments that he didn’t have to worry if they would be coming home. He was only four, but he knew that this superhero business was dangerous. He had heard what happened. He had witnessed the destruction. He hated it. He hated feeling so defenseless. He had already made up his mind that he would get stronger and help his fathers defend the whole world. He was going to be an Avenger!

“--what you want to be?”

“Huh?” Peter had been lost in thought.

Steve elaborated on his question. “Your costume? Have you decided on it, yet?”

Peter shook his head. “I want to be a superhewo, but . . . I no know which one.” 

Steve looked over to Tony, and Tony met his eyes. Steve’s eyes were shining brightly and held a knowing glint about them. Even his smile looked as if it knew something Tony did not grasp. A mischievous aura surrounded the supersoldier. 

Steve spoke directly to Tony. “What are you doing today?”

“Well, I have to work on my suit that got destroyed last week. I’m putting the finishing touches on a new weapon. Clint asked me for some new weaponized arrows, so I figured I’d get around to that. There’s some SHIELD paperwork I have to shift through. Oh, and Bruce--” Tony stopped when he made contact with Steve’s disapproving gaze. “Uh, I mean. Nothing. I’m doing nothing today.”

“Good. I was thinking . . .”

“Yes?” 

“ . . . that we take Peter out to the Avengers Tower. Maybe talking to some of the guys there will help him decide on a costume.”

“Wow. That is quite brilliant, actually. I’m surprised I’m not the one that came up with it. Some of my intelligence must be rubbing off on you.”

“If anything, I’m probably getting dumber.” Steve smugly took in the gasping expression on Tony’s face. He didn’t give him time to retort and quickly turned his attention to the little boy eagerly bouncing up and down his seat. “What do you think, Peter?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” 

“Okay. It’s settled. We’ll go to the Avengers Tower AFTER we clean up. Let’s hurry. We only have twelve days before Halloween.” 

“I got the kitchen. You go get Peter ready,” Tony said as he picked up the dishes from the table and carried them over to the sink.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Go. Now.” 

“Yay!” Peter jumped off his chair and ran out of the kitchen. “Going to see the ‘Vengers!” His gleeful screaming could still be heard from the other side of the house. 

Steve, smiling, made his way after him as Tony began to rinse the glasses they had just drank out of a couple of minutes ago. He, too, was smiling.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - 

“Now, I don’t want you running around the building. It’s extremely big, and you’ll get lost. Also, don’t play with any objects you see lying around. I’ll have to tell Natasha to put her things away, but . . .”

“The kid gets it, Steve. You spit out the same rules every single time. I think he’s got it by now, right, bud?”

Peter nodded in agreement. He was holding both of his parents’ hands as they walked down the stony path that led to the entrance of the great, magnificent building that was the Avengers Tower. He’d been here before, but he was still amazed by the sheer size of it. It would never cease to astound him. 

A small breeze picked up and Tony placed the hood of Peter’s red sweater over his wild, chestnut-brown hair, which looked unkept even though Steve had brushed it down several times. 

Once they neared the entrance, Peter let go of their hands and ran up to the door. They opened automatically, so he didn’t even have to slow down as he made his way inside. 

“Peter! Wait for us,” Steve called out behind him, but Peter was already by the elevator.

He was tiptoeing trying to reach the big “Open” button that would summon the elevator to their floor. Even stretching out his fingers, he couldn’t seem to reach it. Suddenly, he saw a fist smash into the yellow button.

“I almost had it,” he pouted at Tony.

“Sure you did, bud.” Tony ruffled his hair as the doors slid open, and they made their way inside.

“Hi-ya!” Peter karate-chopped the button (this one he could reach) that would send the elevator to the top floor where the Avengers lounged about. He couldn’t keep still, and his knees bent as he eagerly hopped up and down. 

Steve looked down at his overly-excited son, whose grin took up half of his childish face, and his fists were clenched up. The sight of him bouncing in place caused Steve to laugh under his breath.

As soon as the doors slid a couple of inches apart, Peter dashed straight through the gap. He heard Steve calling after him, but he could not wait anymore. He jumped over the three steps that led to the lobby and made his way to the black, leather couch, all the while removing his sweater to reveal a red, untucked t-shirt. He sat down on the couch, cross legged, and looked over at his couch mate.

“Hi!” He gave Clint a huge toothy grin. 

Clint put down the arrow he was detailing and ruffled Peter’s hair. “Hey! How’s it going, Petey?”

“Okay.”

Clint brought his gaze down to Peter’s dirty, white sneakers. Peter immediately understood and took off his shoes, letting them land with a soft thud on the carpeted floor. He knew Clint didn't care about the couch getting dirty, but his Dada would not hold back his frustration.

“What brings you down here?” Clint said as Peter adjusted his white socks and smoothed down his blue, grass-stained jeans.

Steve and Tony were making their way to the lounge. Vision had come over to take their jackets, which the two men kindly complied with, and were now engaged in conversation. 

“Papa and Dada want me to choose a cowstoom for ‘Alloween, but I no know what to be?” Peter told Clint. He described their morning conversation and how they had arrived at the conclusion to ask the Avengers for help.

Clint snorted. “It’s easy, kid.”

Peter beamed. “Really?!”

“Yeah.” He put his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “Listen, all you have to do is don some black, preferably leather, clothes and grab some arrows, a bow, and you’re set.”

Peter giggled. “That’s ‘Awkeye!”

“Exactly,” Clint said as he bopped the giggling child on the nose. “I’ll even let you borrow some arrows. It’s a great costume. Everybody will be so jealous.”

“Jealous of what?” Natasha had entered the room. As soon as she saw Peter, she made her way over to the three-seater to give him a playful punch.

“My cowstoom.” 

“What costume?”

“I’m going to be ‘Awkeye!” Peter was now jumping up and down on the couch. 

Natasha glared at Clint as he sneered at her. “Why do you wanna be Hawkeye, Peter?”

“Cuz I get to shoot arrows.”

“Yeah, well,” Natasha reached for something around her waist. It was a rectangular, black object. It reminded Peter of a cellphone, but he’d seen cellphones before and this one was different.

“What is it?”

“I’ll show you.” Before Clint could react, Natasha aimed the object at him and clicked a button. 

Peter saw something shoot out from the metallic tips on the rectangular object and hook onto Clint. Blue sparks traversed the wires and a humming sound buzzed in Peter’s ears. Then, Clint began to convulse until he eventually slumped in his seat. Drool appeared from the corner of his mouth. 

“Whoa! What was that?” Peter’s eyes were sparkling.

“Taser,” Natasha said as she put it away. “Black Widow gets to carry around weapons like this.”

“Whoa!”

“What’s going on here?” Tony and Steve had now joined the group on the couch. 

“Dada! I want to be Black Widow!”

“Black Widow?! Whoa! What brought this on?” Tony kneeled down in order to come face to face with his son.

“That!” He pointed at the semi-conscious Clint. “I want to do that. I want to use the Taper like Aunt ‘Tasha.”

“Taser,” Natasha corrected.

“Uh,” Tony looked over at Steve.

Steve stood in front of Natasha and took the “taper” out of her hands.

“Hey!” Natasha protested and made a grab for it, but Steve was already out of her reach.

“Nobody is allowed to play with the taser inside the building.” He placed the taser in Tony’s open palm.

With a smile, Tony added, “You can have it back after class,” to which Natasha scowled.

Steve was kneeling in front of Peter now (he had checked Clint’s pulse and, after sensing it, he had turned his attention to his son). “So, Black Widow, huh?”

Peter nodded wildly, his head moving back and forth so fast that Tony thought it would fall off. 

“Okay,” Steve looked back at Tony. “I think we can do that.”

“Great.” Tony tucked the taser into his pants pocket. “I have a few knick-knacks I could tamper with back in the lab. The suit shouldn’t be that difficult to create. We’ll need to do something about the hair . . .” 

“What are we doing to who’s hair?”

Peter jumped at the sound of this new voice. 

Scott Lang took a seat in the couch opposite Peter. “Whoever it is, I’m game. So, who’s hair we messing with? Is it Thor’s? Because that blondie needs a haircut.”

“Peter. He’s going to be me for Halloween.”

“My, that is a scary costume,” Scott said as he placed his feet on the coffee table between him and Peter.

“Very funny,” Natasha scoffed. 

“Feet off the furniture.” Tony smacked Scott’s legs down.

Ignoring Tony, Scott focused on Peter. “If you really want to be something cool for Halloween, I can let you wear my costume. Just imagine. You shrink down and all those chocolate bars become one hundred times bigger. You’d have candy for the rest of your life.”

Scott caught Peter staring at him wide-eyed. _Looks like my idea was convincing enough_ , he thought. _That’s a win for me. Game over, Natasha._

Peter leaned in closer to Scott. Chills ran through Scott’s body as he anxiously waited for Peter’s next words. _Say it, Petey. Come on!_

His brown eyes were gleaming with curiosity as he prepared to ask Scott the question that had burned in his mind since he heard his voice.

“Uncle Scott?”

“Yeah?” _This is it_ , Scott thought. _This kid is going to ask me if he could be Ant-Man for Halloween, and I am never going to let any of these guys live it down._

“Are you a clown?”

“Ye--wait, what?” The huge smile Scott had been sporting quickly disappeared as he registered what he had been asked. That was not the question he had been preparing for.

“Dada! He said yes!” Peter turned to Tony, who had taken a seat on the armrest next to the still unconscious Clint. “You were right!” Peter climbed over Clint’s legs and flew into Tony’s arms.

Tony, who had been laughing to the point of tears, clutched Peter close to his chest and rubbed his head. After a few gasps for air, he replied. “Told you. It’s okay, bud. I’ll protect you from that clown.” Peter buried his head into Tony’s chest as he grasped his white dress shirt with both fists.

In disbelief of the whole ordeal, Steve, who had taken his place behind Tony, had his back to the group. But, his shaking shoulders betrayed him, and it was obvious that he was muffling his laughter.

Scott struggled to remain calm. “No, Peter. I’m--I’m not a clown.” 

“Then what are you?” Peter turned his face away from the sanctuary that was Tony’s chest.

“I’m an Avenger, just like your dads.”

Peter shook his head. “Other job.”

 _Other job?_ It took Scott a moment to process what Peter meant. “Oh, that! Well, when I’m not out saving the world, I go into people’s houses and--”

“Scott! Don’t!” As soon as Peter had asked Scott about his job, Steve had become attentive to the conversation, waiting to intervene if necessary.

Scott, ignoring Steve, continued. “--fix their electric stuff.”

“Like lightbulbs?” Peter asked. 

“Yeah. Like lightbulbs. And, other more complicated things.”

“You got a job, Scott?” Natasha asked.

“Yeah. Well, I mean, I do have a masters in electrical engineering. Plus, I did a lot of tinkering back when I was in pris--”

“Okay!” Steve interrupted. “See, Peter. Scott is not a clown. You don’t have to worry about him.”

“Okay.” Peter made his way out of Tony’s arm and took his place back on the couch accidentally stepping on Clint’s crotch in the process. 

With a grunt, a red-faced Clint awoke. He placed his hands in his middle region as he bit back all the swear words that threatened to escape. 

Tony slapped him in the back. “You alright there, Legolas?”

“Fine,” Clint said through clenched teeth. 

“So,” Scott was now sitting on the coffee table in front of Peter, “my costume offer is still on the table.”

Peter pouted as he thought this over. “Hmmm . . . Nah. Black Widow is cooler.”

With a smirk, Natasha stood up from the couch. “Call me if you need anything for your costume, Peter. I have to go.” She turned, took a few steps, then stopped and turned around. “Can I have my taser back.” 

Tony turned to Steve who gave him a small nod. “Here you go,” he said as he tossed it over to Natasha.

She caught it with ease and left the room. 

“Tony, we got a call, too,” Steve whispered in Tony’s ear. 

“Got it. Vision!” Tony waited for the A.I. to apparate before him before asking him to look after Peter while they set off on their mission. 

“Very well, Sir. I will care for your offspring in your absence.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Tony said before giving Peter a kiss on the forehead and informing him of what rewards awaited him if he behaved.

After Tony gave Peter a warm hug, it was Steve’s turn to bid him farewell for the time being. “Be good for Vision.”

“I will.” Peter said with a smile that hid his worries.

Steve smiled down at Peter and matted down his hair. Then, he followed Tony to the open elevator where Scott and Clint impatiently stood.

As the elevator doors began to close, Peter shouted after them, “Papa! Dada! Beat all the bad guys!” to which Tony replied with a thumbs up and Steve with another smile. Once they disappeared behind the metallic doors, though, Peter’s smile faltered, and his energy all but evaporated. He made his way back to the couch and slumped down. 

Vision, noticing his change in demeanor, tried to decipher how to lift Peter’s spirits. “Would you care to watch some television?”

“Sure.” 

Vision turned on the large flat-screen and went into the kitchen in search of “snacks.” Peter stared at the glowing screen portraying colorful, overzealous characters and immediately forgot his worries.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - 

The sound of the elevator starting up coarsed through Peter as if he had some sort of inner “sense” that was on high alert. He shifted his body toward the elevator door waiting for them to part like a puppy waiting at the door for his owner to return from work.

His excitement, however, dwindled down as neither of his fathers stepped through. 

“Hey, Peter. Is your dad around?”

Peter’s focus had shifted back to the glowing screen in front of him, but he still responded to the scientist. “No, Uncle Bruce. He’s fighting a bad guy.”

“Oh.” Bruce Banner shifted his weight from one foot to the other nervously. “And, they didn’t bother to mention it to me,” he said under his breath. He looked at Peter. He loved Peter. He really did. But, he didn’t feel comfortable in the presence of such fragile beings: children. Even with grown adults he felt as if the inner beast would take over and go into a fiery frenzy injuring those nearby. He worried that, with Peter, something would happen, one little thing, and . . . that guy . . . would come out and do something irreversible to . . .

“Uncle Bruce?” 

Peter was no longer watching the animated characters dancing around. When Bruce hadn’t said anything else, Peter had become quite uncomfortable. These silent moments with Bruce weren’t rare, though. Peter was the one that usually did all the talking, but right now . . . it was as if Peter could feel the frenzy Bruce’s mind was experiencing.

Bruce smiled down at the boy. He patted his shoulder in an attempt to reassure him and sat down next to him. “Sorry. I was just thinking about . . . something.”

“About what?”

Bruce looked into those curious, brown eyes filled with determination. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“Why not?” 

_Man, this kid was persistent._ Then again, taking into account whose DNA he was carrying, Bruce wasn’t surprised by it. Peter had already displayed high intelligence (higher than your average pre-schooler) and had displayed a fascination with technology and science (much like Tony). He even helped Bruce out in the laboratory with some experiments. Still, Peter was a 4-year-old kid so . . .

“What are you doing for Halloween?”

With a wide smile, Peter began his tale hoping Bruce would give some insight into his costume dilemma. 

. . . children are easily manipulated.

“Huh.” Bruce clicked his tongue as he pondered Peter’s huge problem. “Well, I may have an idea.”

His eyes lit up. “Really?” Peter squealed. He jumped from the couch and grabbed his sneakers.

“Let’s go down to the lab. I’ll see what I can do.” He held out his hand for Peter to take, and they made their way to the elevator together. Peter smashed the button for the basement, and he stumbled as the elevator jolted down. 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - 

“We did okay this time.” 

“I think that gaping hole in the middle of Madison Square Garden will disagree with us.”

“That wasn’t us. It was the dude with the lasers.”

“Tony . . .“

“I know. I know. We’re gonna hear it from Eyepatch tomorrow.” Tony cursed under his breath. “We were doing fine before that as--”

“Langua--”

“I know! I know.” He took a deep breath. “Before that _guy_ showed up.” Tony glanced at Steve and caught the beginning of a smirk. He took a look around the room. Vision was sitting alone on the couch engrossed in those overly-happy characters Peter sometimes watches. 

“Uh, Vision?” Steve stood between Vision and the glowing screen.

“Yes?” Vision was trying to look past Steve.

“Where’s Peter?” Steve moved to block Vision’s gaze.

“Dr. Banner took him to the lab.” Vision was still trying to look past Steve.

“The la--”

The elevator’s hum filled the room, and both Tony and Steve waited for the passengers to appear. 

Their heart rate returned to normal as they heard the familiar cries of “Dada! Papa!” But, their smiles disappeared with the sight that stood before them.

A creature, the size of Peter, appeared wearing nothing but some purple piece of cloth around his waist which appeared to be shorts except that they were torn in various places. The creature greeted them again, and it sounded very much like Peter. But, there was one slight difference.

It was green from head to toe (literally). His hair was a dark green with streaks of its previous almond-like hue, and his skin was a lighter shade of green like that of a healthy lawn.

To nobody’s surprise, Tony was the first to comment. “Steamed broccoli? I guess that’s pretty scary.”

“I’m not a broccoli! I’m Hulk!”

“Yeah, uh, no.”

“No?” Bruce stepped between Tony and Peter. “Why not?”

“We’re not going to have our son walking around half-naked, Banner.”

“I agree with Tony, Bruce,” Steve was already wiping off the green off Peter’s skin with a wet handkerchief. “It gets cool during the evening. I’d prefer a costume with more . . . costume.”

“But I like the Hulk, Papa.”

“Maybe another year, Peter,” Steve said to his nearly-naked son, then to Bruce, “will the green . . .”

“It should come off after a bath.”

“Should?”

Bruce’s shrug didn’t reassure Steve. He grabbed Peter’s dyed hand and took him down the hall. “Let’s go get this off of you.” 

Tony let out a long sigh. “Nice try,” he told Bruce as he placed his hand on his shoulder.

Bruce shrugged it off. “I thought it was cool.” 

“I thought you hated him. The Hulk, I mean.”

“Hulk is kinda cute when he’s only 3 feet tall . . . and not destroying the city.”

“Maybe we can modify your DNA to counter that ‘side effect’ of your gamma radiation. We could alter the height and--”

“Good-bye, Tony. I hope Peter finds a costume in time,” Bruce said as he waved Tony off and disappeared behind the metallic, sliding doors. 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Peter was sprawled in the middle of the living room staring up at the ceiling. He was lost deep in thought and had subconsciously brought his thumb to his mouth where he anxiously sucked on it until the slobber trickling down the corner of his mouth drenched the collar of his shirt. With a loud _plop_ , he took out his thumb and let his arm fall with a small _thud_ on the large, black rug. 

He let out a loud groan.

“Peter?” Steve appeared from the top of the stairs. “What’s wrong?”

Peter sat up, but his eyes fixated on the rug beneath him. “It’s almost ‘Alloween, and--and, I no have a cowstoom.”

Steve joined him on the rug. He pulled Peter closer to him in a half hug. “Don’t worry. We’ll find you one.” But, Peter was right. With only two days remaining, Halloween was almost here, and they hadn’t decided on a costume for Peter. Steve was considering dressing him up in something generic, like a mummy or ghost, but Tony would not settle for anything less than what he deemed worthy for his son. And, the whole Black Widow idea had fallen through after the Hulk debacle. Peter had become indecisive and would not wear a costume he felt was "not the one." They had asked many people for advice, but it all ended up with Peter looking like a mini-version of their Avenger identity. 

“This is such a silly ritual you people perform,” Thor had said when they had brought the subject up four days ago. “But, if it is deemed important, then may I suggest granting him a hammer. And a red cape. And . . . better hair.”

“We are not dressing our son up as you, Hammerhead,” Tony had interjected. 

“Then it is your loss. It would have proven beneficial in your . . . ritual.” 

“For the last time, it’s not a ritual. It’s more like--like a game.”

“It is most definitely a harvesting ritual. Back in Asgard--”

“I don’t care what you do ‘back in Asgard!’ I need to know what we do here on Earth--”

“Midgard,” Thor had corrected.

“ _Earth._ ” 

“That’s enough.” Steve had stepped in between the two men and stopped their conversation before it became a brawl. “It’s late, Tony. We should go home.” 

“I’ll grab Peter.” Tony had kept his glare fixed on Thor. He had gone to the couch where Peter laid fast asleep. At least Thor hadn’t had the opportunity to dress him up in drapes and mop hair. Nor had he been able to provide Peter with a hammer, or worse. Tony had scooped him up in his arms and lead the way out of the building. That had been four days ago, back when they still had nearly a week to prepare for Halloween.

Now, they only had two days.

Steve heard the lab doors open, and a few moments later Tony appeared in the living room.

“What’s going on?” he said as he saw Peter's quivering bottom lip.

“Peter is worried about his costume. We have to decide on something.”

Tony sighed. “If you would just let me--”

“No supersuits!”

“But--”

“Tony.”

“Fine.” Tony crossed his arms. “But nothing better is going to come along, I assure you.”

“The Black Widow costume didn’t seem that bad.”

Tony narrowed his eyes.

“I mean,” Steve continued. “It was the safest out of all of them. Maybe we could convince Peter--”

“Falcon’s was pretty safe,” Tony said as he placed his hands in his pockets.

“He wanted to give our child actual working wings.”

“Flying’s cool.”

“No.”

“You’re just jealous because you can’t fly.” 

Steve saw Tony begin to walk away after his smug delivery, but Steve wasn’t going to let him have the last word. “You know . . . T’Challa isn’t here, but I’m sure he’d had given Peter a Black Panther costume to wear. Actually, that might be pretty cute. Peter, sweetheart, how’d you like to--”

“Absolutely not!” Tony stormed back into the living room. “No. No no no. No Black Panther. That pussycat thinks he’s so great just because he owns a whole country and riches beyond my--” Tony paused when he saw the smile on Steve’s face. “Oh, you son of a--”

“Don’t!”

“I wasn’t!”

“You were.” 

“Papa, can I go out and play?” Peter was still seated close to Steve, and he had been too preoccupied about his costume throughout the whole exchange, he hadn’t even noticed Tony had come out of the lab.

“Yes. Go ahead, honey.”

Peter shot out of Steve’s arms and hopped to the doorway where he shoved his socked-feet into his white sneakers. 

“Only in the backyard, Peter,” Tony called out.

“Kay!” Peter shouted back.

The costume conversation was suspended until dinner when Tony called Peter back into the house. They were seated at the dinner table, plates half-empty, when Steve brought the subject up again.

“So, for your costume--”

“‘Sokay. I already got one.”

Tony and Steve exchanged a look. 

Tony wiped his lips with the napkin and swallowed the bits of food still in his mouth before speaking. “And, where did you get it?”

“My new friend gave it to me.”

“‘New friend?’” Steve raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Which new friend, Peter?”

“He told me it’s a secret. Can’t tell you.” Peter raised a finger and placed it on his lips indicating that he would say no more. 

Steve gave Tony a frightened look to which Tony shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” he said trying to reassure his husband. 

“Nothing? Really, Tony? This is us we’re talking about. What if it’s something similar to a symbiote or an A.I. like Ultron?” Steve wasn’t aware that he was whispering. 

“Or it could be one of the guys messing with us.” Nor was Tony.

“He said ‘new friend.’”

“They’re probably lying, trying to throw us off.”

Steve looked anxiously at Peter. He seemed fine. Nothing out of the ordinary, yet. “Peter?” he said in a louder tone. Peter kept eating. “Peter?”

After a fourth time, Peter finally raised his head. 

“Can you show us your costume?”

“Not ‘til ‘Alloween. It’s a surprise cowstoom.”

“A surprise costume. Great.” He turned back to Tony. “Are you sure--”

“I’ll do a homescan for any unusual presences tonight. Don’t worry.”

A homescan did slightly reassure Steve. If the scan came back negative he’d be less worried. “Alright.”

“Alright. Now, whose turn is it to do the dishes?”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Steve paced nervously around the living room. He was rubbing his chin, and his gaze was on the floor. In a few moments, Peter would emerge from his room with whatever forsaken costume was given to him. Steve didn’t care what the costume was, as long as it didn’t take over his son’s mind he’d consider it a win.

Tony, who had been analyzing some scientific notes from his current experiment had been sitting on the couch a few minutes before Steve’s pacing had began. He had been trying to figure out where his experiment had gone wrong, but Steve’s movements were infiltrating his mind. He couldn’t focus.

“Will you please sit down?” he said impatiently.

Steve continued pacing.

“Steve.”

Nothing.

"Steve." 

Still nothing. 

“Rogers!”

Steve’s head snapped up as if he had been awaken from a dream. 

“Steve.”

Steve turned around. Tony was glaring at him.

“Sit. Down.”

“How can you be so calm? Peter is putting on who-knows-what in there, and he won’t let us see, and what if it’s something bad, Tony?!”

“If you want to know so badly, why don’t you go see?”

“He wants to surprise us, Tony. I can’t take that away from him.”

The tiny footsteps coming down the stairs was drowned out by the two men’s booming voices. 

“Then stop complaining.” Tony was struggling to keep his voice down to a talking level.

“I’m not complaining; I’m worried!”

The shuffling of feet next to them was lost on the men as they continued their discussion. It wasn’t until they felt a tug on their pants leg that they finally looked down at their son.

“Peter wha--what are you wearing?” Tony’s disapproval was fairly noticeable.

Peter looked up at his dads who had stopped arguing to examine their son who was now clad in a red outfit from head to toe. He had fake (at least Steve hoped they were fake) katanas strapped to his back and a fake (hopefully) pistol poking out from the brown leather pouch around his thigh. The brown belt around his waist carried other fake (?) weapons, the amount of which concerned Steve. His innocent face was also hidden behind a red mask, and the only trace of Peter were his brown eyes which stared at them through the white slits of the mask.

“Who are you supposed to be, sweetie?” Steve said in a cooing voice.

“Deadpool! I’m Deadpool!” Peter started running around in circles as he repeatedly stated he was Deadpool.

Tony went over to him. “No. You can’t be Deadpool, bud.”

“How come?”

“Because Deadpool is . . . well, he’s . . .” Tony struggled with how to explain Deadpool to a child. 

But, Peter didn’t need explaining. He had made up his mind, and there’s nothing more stubborn in the world than the made-up mind of a 4-year-old child. 

“Deadpool! Deadpool! Deadpool!” he began chanting.

“Peter . . . You need to take that off.” 

“No!” Peter said.

“Peter . . .” Tony made a grab for the child, but he was too quick. With one swift dodge, Peter ran out of the living room screaming Deadpool’s name at the top of his lungs. “Peter!” Tony chased after him. “Peter get back here. You are not going like that. Peter!”

“Deadpool! Deadpool!”

Their battle continued for a while until Steve, smiling, followed them up the stairs to Peter’s room. He walked over to an out-of-breath Tony Stark. “You must be getting old.”

“Not as old as you. Plus, fighting a 4-year-old is much harder than fighting an alien invasion.”

The chants of Deadpool continued filling the room. 

“He likes it. Why not let him keep it?” Steve flashed Tony a small grin. “Please? I mean, it’s not killing him, so I consider it acceptable.”

Tony observed Steve’s angelic looking face. He let out a loud sigh. “Fine.” And, when he saw Steve’s face light up, he added, “but I’m killing Wade next time I see him.”

“He regenerates.”

“You know what I mean.” Tony walked over to the chanting child. “Okay. You win. You’re Deadpool.”

“Yay! I’m Deadpool! I’m Deadpool! I’m Deadpool!”

“Okay, okay. We get it,” Tony patted him on his masked head. “Let’s go get some candy . . . Deadpool.”

Steve, treat bag already in hand, led the way downstairs. “You were right, Tony. I had nothing to worry about.” 

Tony grunted in reply.

Downstairs, Steve opened the door. “Let’s go, I have the keys.”

Peter grabbed the treat bag as he raced out the door. “Less go! Less go! I want candies!”

“Hold on, sweetheart. I need to lock up.” Steve waited for Tony to grab his coat and join them outside. “Any day now.”

“You have no right to rush me.” Once outside, Tony waited by Steve’s side as he locked the door. He watched their enthusiastic son impatiently hop from one foot to the other as he waited at the end of the driveway for his parents’ arrival. “He’s as impatient as you,” Tony teased.

“I’m the impatient one?” 

Tony shrugged. “Maybe.”

Steve slowly shook his head. “We don’t have time for this. Let’s go.” He placed his hand in Tony’s, and they walked down the driveway where their son was urging them on.

“Deadpool wants candies!”

Steve took his little hand in his and walked him to his first house where Peter wanted to go alone, so, after some negotiating, they let him. 

Tony and Steve, still holding hands, watched as their son’s little feet ran up the lit up driveway decorated with witches and pumpkins. 

“He’s growing up,” Steve said as Peter rang the doorbell.

Tony said nothing.

They watched in silence as an old woman opened the door, and he uttered those magic words that work only once a year, “Twick o’ Tweat!,” and watched as the woman gushed over his disguise and poured a handful of sweets into his bag.

Beside him, Tony shifted. “You're doing alright?” Steve asked. 

Tony had been absorbed in the beauty of this moment. The moon was bright, children were rushing around trying to get the best candy, and his son was enjoying his first trick-or-treating experience. But, he was also basking in the beauty that is his husband. Steve’s light blue eyes had lit up as Peter ran up the driveway. The moon was shining magnificently on his face. And, the smile that had appeared as Peter said those three words melted Tony’s heart. Those three things combined made Steve look like the most beautiful creature Tony had ever laid eyes on. His admiration took hold and before he knew it his lips were on Steve’s. 

Steve was a bit taken aback by the sudden embrace, but the moment had been appropriate. He relaxed his body onto Tony’s and kissed him back.

They stared into each other’s eyes as they pulled back. Steve’s smile was back on his sweet face. Tony was smiling, too. The world around them had disappeared as they looked longingly at each other.

“Ewww!”

They looked down to see Peter clutching his no-longer empty bag with both hands. 

Tony let go of Steve and grabbed his son’s gloved hand. “Let’s go, ‘Pool. My senses tell me they are giving out huge chocolate bars in this house.”

“Chocolate!” Peter started pulling Tony toward their next location.

Steve walked behind them watching Tony try to calm their impatient son down. 

Watching his family. 

He rubbed his left eye and was surprised to find a tear forming. 

“Hurry up, Cap.”

“Hurry, Papa!”

“I’m hurrying.” Steve ran to his family and took Tony’s free hand in his. “What’s the hold up?”

“Waiting on you,” Tony replied. 

“Well, I’m here now.”

“Yeah, you are.” Tony gave him a peck on the cheek as the supertrio walked hand in hand in the direction of the bright moon.


End file.
